


Two Letters

by myracingthoughts



Series: Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Bickering, Ex Sex, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Hunter and Bobbi are caterers for rival companies, both working on the contract of their dreams: Stark Industries’ annual Christmas party… together.Let the bickering begin.
Relationships: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse
Series: Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035525
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Two Letters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treaddelicately](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately/gifts).



> Uh, so this took on a life of its own. Sorry not sorry that your prompt (playing with their hair, head in lap) is at the very end of this fic, [@treaddelicately](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately).
> 
> This fic also fulfills the 'Old flames brought together under unusual circumstances' [Hallmark Holiday Movie Bingo](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/post/634579786258432002) square.

Stark Tower was probably the last place they’d expected to meet.

Maybe somewhere in the streets. Maybe a convention. Maybe even a workshop. But not here. Not now. Not at the city’s biggest holiday party, in the lap of luxury. Not when they each had the biggest contract of their entire existence in their grasp, ready to deliver their end of the bargain.

The taste of that paycheque soured slightly as they greeted each other like they would an old boss. From a company they hated. In the privacy of their bedroom, behind the safety of a laptop screen and a too-tall glass of wine.

“Lance.”

“Barbara.”

Neither of them missed the underlying question in their tone. 

Namely, what the hell the other was doing there.

“Oh good, we’re on a first-name basis, then.”

Pepper Potts sounded a little too cheery, not looking up from her phone as she waltzed up to the two of them, probably still mid-email. She’d failed to notice the daggers being shot between the pair, smoke already trailing out of their ears as they tried to piece together the bigger picture.

“I had a question about the menu—”

“There was something missing from the kitchen—”

Bobbi and Hunter stopped mid-sentence, eyebrows cocked and arms crossed.

“Wait.”

Apparently they still had the infuriating ability to finish each other’s sentences, no matter how short.

“Did my assistant not make the arrangement clear?” Pepper was all business, blue eyes glancing at them expectantly.

Hunter huffed, the petulant tone that made Bobbi’s ears bleed on a good day — and this was not turning out to be a good day.

“I’d say not.”

Pepper Potts seemed to give them a moment to piece it together, but seeing Hunter’s impatience, sighed, crossed her arms and assumed the verbal sparring position.

“Well, we just thought, since it was such a big gig…” Pepper trailed off, waving her fingers in the air like she was reaching for the excuse she’d drafted earlier that morning. “Anyway, you’re both here. Neither of you have exclusivity clauses in your contract. There’s a set menu and lot of mouths to feed. And I _assume_ you’re both professionals?”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows at Hunter who mouthed a silent, ‘what?’ in return before they both turned back to Pepper with a nod. As much as they would have preferred to be anywhere else in that moment, neither were about to ruin their chance to at a payday.

“So, I’m sure you both can figure it out.”

Turning on her office Manolos before either of them could find a single word to say in response, Pepper Potts walked out of the situation and onto the next crisis. Leave it to the head of Stark Industries to shut the both of them up before they could even make a snide remark about the other.

“You know this is because she didn’t trust either of us to do it ourselves, right?” Bobbi scoffed to Hunter’s blank look. “I assume you’re smart enough to know this wasn’t an oversight.”

Hunter didn’t look phased, unfastening the latches on his jacket like it was business as usual.

“Well,” Hunter started, brushing off his hands. “I’ll completely understand if you’d like to back out of tonight.”

Bobbi only rolled her eyes at his faux-chivalry.

“Not a chance, Hunter.”

* * *

Bobbi was not about to get distracted.

Not by his day-old wrinkled chef coat or his tattered and torn recipe notes littering the stainless steel countertops. Not by the scruff on his chin or the tattoos peeking out from his sleeve.

No, definitely not that.

They had a job to do and established lines in the sand made official by two little letters. Two letters that had seemingly been branded onto each other’s forehead: 

Ex. 

Forever and always burdened with this sense of familiarity and fond memories that would never be more than history. It wasn’t just a status for today, or for now, or even for this year. They would always be exes to each other, and Bobbi wasn’t about to sit here with a smile on her face about the whole thing.

It wasn’t like it had ended _well _.__

__Did relationships ever really end well? There was always a reason they ended in the first place. Sometimes unspoken, always somewhat hurtful, never something to look back on fondly unless they were getting out of a bad situation to begin with._ _

__That said, Bobbi and Hunter hadn’t been a bad situation. They were like butane and a set of strike anywhere matches: poised to got up in flames at the tiniest amount of friction._ _

__But nothing had ever burned hotter together._ _

__Bobbi cleared her throat and tried to keep her eyes anywhere but on him. The residual heat still seemed to linger and suddenly she needed a glass of water._ _

* * *

__To the frustration of the rest of the kitchen, the pair spent the whole night arguing over minor things. They bickered over serveware (“That is _not_ a soup bowl, Hunter!”), mashed potato processes (“We do not use a ricer in this kitchen, Barbara!”), and cranberries (“I swear to god if you serve glorified jello, I am walking out of this kitchen.”)._ _

__The last thing either of them expected to be the tipping point of an already tense night was the pumpkin pie recipe. And yet…_ _

__“Where are the measurements?”_ _

__Bobbi slammed down a piece of lined notebook paper, which even Hunter would call barely legible in stained swirls of graphite. Popcorn? No, that didn’t sound right. That was definitely supposed to read ‘pumpkin.’_ _

__Confused expression in full force, Hunter took the bait, “The what?”_ _

__“On this recipe?” Bobbi already sounded exasperated, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ears. Hunter was just glad she was back to blonde. “Hunter, I need the recipe for this pumpkin pie if we’re going to make enough to go around. We have under four hours.”_ _

__“Oh. That.” Hunter said, tilting his head to the side. “It’s more of a _feeling_ , really.”_ _

__There was that look again. Did she think he was joking? He didn’t joke when it came to the culinary arts._ _

__Well, not usually._ _

__“I can’t bake a feeling, Hunter.”_ _

__She really wasn’t getting it, was she? This was an art form. Not something that could be written on a piece of paper or found in some stuffy French recipe book that she probably translated in her spare time. It was taste tests along the way and making do where needed._ _

__Not that she knew anything about trial and error._ _

__Bobbi Morse was practically perfect in every way and wasn’t afraid to let him know as much._ _

__But from the way she planted her feet —a Bobbi battle stance if he’d ever seen one, and he’d seen her go toe-to-toe with him more times than he had fingers and toes— he knew he wasn’t about to win._ _

__Hunter huffed, “Well, it’s baking! It’s not an exact science.”_ _

__“Baking _is entirely_ an exact science!”_ _

__“Well, I’m sure _your_ pumpkin pie recipe is just perfect, isn’t it?”_ _

__“I’d say it’s pretty good,” Bobbi sniffed, handing him a piece of paper._ _

__“You put _what_ in your pumpkin pie?” he shouted about five minutes later when she slid him his colour-coded and laminated instructions. “That is _way_ too much clove. What are you thinking?!” _ _

__“I thought it was just a feeling.”_ _

__“Well, if clove was a feeling it’d be a little bit too much like you, Barbara,” Hunter huffed. “Bitter and way too opinionated.”_ _

* * *

__Bobbi tried to ignore them brushing by each other between the narrow kitchen countertops and workstations. They both kept a close eye on their employees, offering tips and guidance on their respective recipes. At least the menu was pretty evenly split._ _

__She watched as Hunter encouraged a pastry chef across the room on his pie plating skills, not too rough or abrasive. It had been a while since she’d seen him in his element, doing the things he did best._ _

__Hunter was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an asshole._ _

__Well, he wasn’t a _total_ asshole, at least._ _

__Not that they were entirely in the clear as far as spats went. There was still the question of serveware and garnishes. And Hunter had a tendency to over-dress his plates, if Bobbi was honest._ _

__“Ugh, that’s so 2004. I mean, I know you don’t have much in the way of taste, Hunter, but…” Bobbi trailed off, wondering if she should add the next part. But the way his forehead creased she he already had a retaliatory quip lined up, so she took her shot, “This isn’t exactly TGI Fridays.”_ _

__“Yeah, well, you might not be able to tell with your choice of salad dressing skills.”_ _

__“Just because I didn’t want a pound of parmesan on every plate does not mean—”_ _

__“Half of these fruits aren’t even in season—!”_ _

__“I don’t think the SI head honchos are going to be able to tell the difference between imported—”_ _

__“Will you two just fuck already?”_ _

__The voice seemed to cut across the kitchen, several serving utensils clattering onto the plates below them. Bobbi and Hunter nearly broke their neck at the speed that they searched for the voice, finding Tony Stark cross-armed and staring at them from the swinging doors._ _

__“I, uh—”_ _

__“Sorry, sir—”_ _

__“—we didn’t mean to cause a scene.”_ _

__He turned on his heel without another word, rolling his eyes at pair who had suddenly lost their very established opinions on salads and fruit sellers._ _

* * *

__“Well, I guess all things considered it was a relatively lovely meal,” Hunter offered quietly, shoulder-to-shoulder with Bobbi as they looked on from just outside the reach of the swinging kitchen doors. “Outside of the kitchen, at least.”_ _

__Bobbi’s response was just above a whisper, “Yeah, I guess it was.”_ _

__“Are you _blushing_?”_ _

__“No, it’s just hot in here. With the kitchen. The ovens, you know?”_ _

__But Hunter let it go, writing it off as just misreading the situation. After all, finishing a massive dinner service like this was probably the closest thing to a big ‘o’ in the kitchen world— and he wasn’t thinking about ovations._ _

__The thoughts lingered in his head as he thanked the crew and gathered his things from the cloakroom. Bobbi was waiting for a cab out front, nose nipped red in the cold, and navy wool coat catching every perfect snowflake before they inevitably melted._ _

__There was that residual heat again._ _

__“We should celebrate,” the words seemed to tumble out of his lips before he could process them— moreso than usual._ _

__“I guess I _could_ go for a drink to celebrate the fact that we didn’t kill each other.”_ _

__He shot her a grin._ _

__“Know any good places around here?”_ _

__“Like I’d want to be seen in public with you,” Bobbi huffed a laugh, letting it echo out into the night._ _

__But her eyes drifted to his, and there was that look. The one she’d be hoping to find all night between courses, between spats and banter._ _

__Between sheets._ _

__“My place?”_ _

__The words had barely finished sound when she used her lips to shut him up, hailing a cab with an outstretched arm. Multitasking. Hunter would call that _style_ if his brain was working, but somewhere between Bobbi’s tongue slipping into his mouth and her pulling him into the back of a taxi, he’d lost the ability to form words._ _

__She had only just unlocked the door to her apartment when he’d picked her up and backed her into the door to close it behind them. It had taken all the restraint Hunter had to not corner her in the elevator. Bobbi didn’t seem to mind the roughness, wrapping her legs around his waist like they’d done this a million times before._ _

__They had, in varying shades of relationship status._ _

__His lips latched onto her neck, finding that spot that sent her reeling, scrambling to hold onto the defined muscles of his arms._ _

__“ _Hunter_ ,” she sighed, feeling him smirk into the crook of her neck. “Don’t get cocky.”_ _

__“Me, love?” he groused, forearms planted on either side of her head. “Never.”_ _

__True to his word, Hunter eventually steered them onto the bed, a mess of limbs and lips as they reacquainted themselves with the peaks of valleys of each other. It was always a bit of a competition between them, challenging who could render the other speechless, but neither of them could muster up much in the form of words beyond their names._ _

__Singing praises to the ceiling, they both collapsed between on top of the duvet. Hunter was quick to pull Bobbi’s head into his lap, running his fingers through the (now) mess of blonde hair._ _

__“I missed this,” Bobbi sighed, eyes fluttered shut as he massaged her scalp._ _

__This was their little routine after especially stressful days, when Bobbi didn’t want to talk and Hunter didn’t feel like listening. They’d let his fingers do the talking, her breath hitching as he slowly lulled her to sleep with the simple action._ _

__And while the pre-show had been done a few times over the past twelve months, it’d been _years_ since they’d done this last._ _

__“Me too.”_ _

__Hunter’s fingers trailed through her hair and Bobbi couldn’t help but let out a contented sigh. Sure, the sex was great— frustratingly great, sometimes— but this was the real draw. Feeling safe in his arms, warm and looked after. It was something she hadn’t ever found outside of just them._ _

__The rumble of Hunter’s stomach cut into the mood, making Bobbi chuckle._ _

__“Please tell me you’re making breakfast,” he whined._ _

__Bobbi was about to correct him, tell him it was technically dinner, but one peek out the window proved the sun just lighting up the horizon. And as much as Bobbi wanted a repeat of last night— the part that wasn’t between these four walls— she would be happy to let someone else cook for a change._ _

__“Norma’s?”_ _

__Their go-to diner was just a few blocks away. Hunter smiled down at her, sweeping the hair out of her face and pressing a kiss to the top of her head._ _

__“Sounds perfect, Bob.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. All comments, kudos and bookmarks are loved and cherished.
> 
> This fic was a prompt. You can find my [prompts list and details here](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/post/635410523601649664) if you're interested in adding to my WIP list (please do).


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